


Hold Up Your Arms and Let Me Take You Down

by waitingforjudas



Series: Judas' Kinktober 2019 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), BDSM, Bondage, Caring Derek, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fifty Shades of Grey References, Frottage, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sub Derek Hale, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: Stiles is a Dom and a sadist. But his boyfriend of two years definitely isn’t a sub or a masochist—so wanting to tie Derek up and make him cry from pleasure-pain is kind of a moot point.That is, until Fifty Shades of Grey hits it big and Derek surprises Stiles with dinner and a movie at home—and makes a startling confession.Written for Kinktober 2019 prompts: Bondage, Frottage, 69 (Sex Position), and Vibrators.





	Hold Up Your Arms and Let Me Take You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Why was this uploaded ten hours later than normal? Well, it's more than 5k words, and the bulk of those words (3,832 to be exact) were written today. I ran it through Grammarly and did a quick proofread, but it has not been beta read. If you find a typo or something, feel free to let me know :)
> 
> This is part one in a two-part series--the second part will be uploaded tomorrow. October 7’s short will be considerably briefer as something of a break for me to get caught up working on my original novel.
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy!
> 
>   
_Written for Kinktober 2019. Prompt list can be found at https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872._

College sucked. Mostly because he had midterms and he was _drowning_ amongst the carnage of scribbled-up papers and textbooks that were _outrageously expensive_ and, despite Derek sweetly paying for all of them without making anything of it, Stiles still felt guilty about it. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t like he was the one to decide that a thin book that would be used in two classes for a total of eleven minutes should retail for $125.99, but still. 

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek said and Stiles jerked, almost spilling his ice water that was now just ice that hadn’t been eaten yet. “You’ve got to take a break.”

“No,” Stiles said stubbornly, grabbing his ice cup and tipping it back to eat another piece. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“That’s good, because you’ve been awake for—”

“A totally reasonable length of time!”

Derek folded his arms. “Stiles.”

He huffed. “I’m _fine_. Hasn’t anybody told you not to mother everybody you meet?”

At that, Derek snorted. “Yes, Stiles. I mother everybody I meet. Will you come to bed now?”

Stiles sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.” And then he tried to stand up.

And failed. 

_Ruh-roh_.

“Stiles, can you just stand up and come to bed? Please?”

Stiles winced. “I, uh. May have a _slight_ issue.”

“Are your legs asleep.”

He nodded weakly, averting his gaze. “Maybe a little bit.”

And then Derek had him in his arms and Stiles flailed, his legs twitching a little. 

“Stupid werewolf strength,” Stiles muttered and Derek rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to do this if I were a human,” Derek agreed, and then dumped him onto the mattress where Stiles completely and totally _meant_ to protest, but his eyes were just so _tired_, and. 

And _wow_. 

The bed was _really comfortable_. 

And Derek was _right there_, and he was so _warm_, and Stiles fell asleep. 

###

The next night, Stiles hadn’t been studying quite so long. Mostly because he hadn’t pulled an all-nighter—but he had been sitting for a ridiculous length of time, and, despite his brain being almost completely fried, he was still awake. 

And Derek was cooking something _amazing-smelling_. 

“What the fuck are you cooking?” Stiles asked, fully aware that Derek not only could hear him at a normal volume, but that Derek was almost certainly keyed into Stiles’ heartbeat and respiration at the moment. If only because he was being a creeperwolf again. 

“Why don’t you come down here and see?” Derek called. 

Stiles hesitated. On the one hand, he could spend another five minutes studying. On the other hand, he could see his beautiful hunk of a boyfriend cooking something—maybe even in his sexy apron. 

(Shut up, Derek totally had a sexy apron, and it looked like a normal apron until Derek put it on. And then it became a sexy apron. Because sometimes Derek cooked shirtless but with an apron and it was _insane_.)

“Okay,” Stiles said, clearing his throat as the words came out thick and heavy with arousal. 

He was pretty damn sure he could hear Derek laughing from downstairs and he rolled his eyes but put his laptop into sleep mode and headed downstairs. 

“Thoughts?” Derek asked, nodding to what looked like homemade deep dish pizza, loaded French fries, and chocolate lava cakes. 

“It looks fucking amazing, Derek.” And then Stiles turned his attention to his boyfriend and grinned salaciously. “And so do you.”

Derek blushed and ducked his head. He always seemed to find it embarrassing when Stiles complimented his looks, but it wasn’t like he stopped showing them off. 

“Um,” Derek said, “I rented a movie. If you wanted to watch it with dinner.”

“I would love to, Der.” Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Derek murmured. “You need some stress relief. You’re like a Shamwow for it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and pecked Derek again before pulling away. “I resemble that remark.”

Derek snorted and picked up the pizza—outrageously large by normal standards, but considering Derek’s metabolism and the fact that Stiles hadn’t eaten anything since the quarter banana this morning that he’d forgotten by the sink and hadn’t remembered until four hours later when it looked so nasty that, well, it almost made him not hungry even now, despite the feast before him. 

Stiles grabbed the French fries—homemade, knowing Derek—and the lava cakes and followed after Derek, smiling the whole while. God, he was so lucky to have Derek in his life. 

He set the food down on the coffee table in the home theater (established at Erica’s insistence) and glanced up to Derek. “So, what are we watching tonight?”

Derek nodded to the screen, blushing heavily, and Stiles turned, confused. 

His eyes widened. “Okay. Fifty Shades of Grey. Sure, that sounds good. You know that’s about—”

“Yes,” Derek said, ears turning red at the tips. “I know.”

“Okay— No, of course. I’ve actually been wanting to see this for a while. It’s supposed to be pretty hot, but I guess you already know that, right? I mean, like, not the most _accurate_ representation of the kink community, and a little heavy on the weird plot, but no! No, no, no, it’s a good movie, I’m sure we’ll love it!”

Derek nodded jerkily and sat down on the right side of the loveseat, the one closest to the door, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Budge over, Sourwolf.”

When Derek didn’t, Stiles wedged himself into the small gap he’d left. “I’d like two slices of pizza and all of the French fries.”

Derek rolled his eyes, too. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, but you love it.”

Derek smiled the tiniest bit, obviously trying to hide it, and passed Stiles his food, scooting over to give Stiles some actual room to sit on the loveseat. “Maybe,” he said. 

“Play the movie.” Stiles nodded to the remote and Derek obeyed, pressing play before he took a slice of pizza and started eating so voraciously that Stiles stared for a moment before he returned his attention to the screen. 

_Was Derek okay? _He was acting… weird. 

Stiles dug into the fries, stabbing several at a time with his fork and moaning around them. “You put extra queso blanco in them, didn’t you,” he said, and when Derek opened his mouth to confirm or deny it, he shushed him. “Movie’s playing.” Stiles nudged Derek’s leg a little and winked at him and Derek visibly swallowed before returning to gulping pizza like it was the last food he was ever going to be allowed to eat again. 

Something was off. 

But the pizza was _fucking delicious_. 

###

When the movie finished, Derek turned to him, almost nervously, like he really wanted Stiles to like the movie. “What did you think.”

Stiles frowned a little. “It—It was good. Are you okay, Derek? You’ve been acting weird all night.” 

Not only had Derek finished the other 6 slices of pizza (and part of Stiles’ second that he couldn’t finish, because seriously, the pizza’s diameter must’ve been two and a half feet at least), he’d eaten four of the six lava cakes and packed away the dregs of the fries Stiles hadn’t finished. His mouth had never stopped moving once, even during sex scenes that had Stiles hyperfocused on the movie. 

Well, on the movie, and on Derek. 

Derek shrugged, though. “I—I’m fine. I don’t know, sorry. What did you, uh, think of their relationship?”

“It was… abusive. Toxic. Not an— Derek, are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

Derek somehow withdrew into himself further still. “I’m fine.”

Stiles frowned. “It wasn’t a bad movie, it just wasn’t an accurate representation of BDSM.”

“You would’ve liked it if it was more accurate?”

“No, I— Derek, I liked the movie, I just think that their relationship in particular wasn’t healthy. Are you okay?”

Derek chewed his lip, and Stiles blinked. He never did that. 

“Derek—”

“I want to sub for you,” Derek said. 

Stiles blinked. “You—”

“Want you to Dom me,” he said, so softly that Stiles strained to hear it, but he’d said it. 

“Can I ask where this is coming from?” Stiles was sure that he needed to tread very, very carefully in order to not upset Derek or rush him—or push him to do something he didn’t want to do. Or push him away. 

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, and sighed. “Did you find out that I’m a sadist?”

Derek looked up at that, obviously surprised. “No, I—I didn’t.”

“That I’m a Dom?”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s—it’s just— I read, um, a blog post about it, and it seemed… interesting.”

“So you watched Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Derek’s lips quirked into a smile that almost reached his eyes. “So I researched things for seven months.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. And that would actually kind of explain the last seven months—how their interactions had started skewing towards Stiles taking control in more situations. They’d actually been getting along pretty well for those seven months, especially the last five. 

(It wasn’t like they were always fighting, but they did have friction sometimes. Until seven months ago.)

“You understand RACK and SSC?”

“Yes.”

“What do those stand for?”

“Risk-aware consensual kink, and safe, sane, and consensual.”

Stiles folded his arms, sizing Derek up. “When you say you want to sub for me, what do you mean?”

Derek shrugged, folding in on himself again. “I mean. Maybe… maybe you could… tie me up?”

“Okay.” Stiles’ mind was already lighting up with endless possibilities of what they could do. “How do you feel about prostate massagers?”

Derek looked up. “You— You want to actually do this?”

“I told you, I’m a Dom. Well, I mean, I’ve never been able to actually train under another Dom, but that’s just because I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with it. Like, I’ve done extensive research, I’ve interviewed people in the scene, but we can wait until I’ve learned more. I’m more than happy to do that, seriously.”

Derek shook his head almost violently. “No, no, I—I don’t want to wait.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s fine with me if you do. Like, dude, I don’t want to make this—”

“You’re not going to,” Derek said. 

“That’s sweet, but—”

“I trust you, Stiles. I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise. You know that.”

Stiles shrugged, worrying his lip. “I mean. I don’t _know_ that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have. It’s all right if you don’t want to, but—”

“I want to!” Stiles blushed. 

Derek smiled. “I got that,” he said dryly. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “So, how do you want to do this? Do you want to do it now? Later? Sometime down the road, just—”

“Maybe after your exams?”

“Sure!” Stiles nodded vigorously. “I mean—yeah, yeah, that sounds awesome. Let’s do it then. After the exams. I’ll tie you up and make you feel good.”

“That’s the idea,” Derek said. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “It’s a date.”

###

A week and a half later found Stiles nervously double-checking his rope for any kind of possible imperfection and practicing the knots he’d found online. 

“Good for beginners,” they’d been dubbed. And Stiles was nothing if not a beginner with rope-tying. And knot-tying. And bondage. And actually seeing—or doing—or was it performing—BDSM outside of his research. 

He might’ve been a little bit nervous. But that was fine, because he was certain that Derek was nervous, too. So that was okay. They’d be nervous together. That would be okay. That was just fine, actually. 

Okay. Okay. He could do this. 

“Hey,” Derek said, and Stiles jumped about a half a mile on the bed, _not_ squeaking at all. 

And if he did, it was a _manly_ squeak. 

Derek snorted. “It really wasn’t.”

“Is that any way you should talk to your Dom?” Stiles asked, almost absent-minded as he fumbled with the rope. 

“No,” Derek said, and Stiles looked up, startled, to see Derek looking almost—_ashamed_. 

Stiles frowned, considering the situation. “And how _should_ you address your Dom?”

“I should address you by Sir. Sir.”

Derek was flushed bright red, and Stiles would normally have stopped out of concern for his Sourwolf, but Derek was hard in his jeans. 

Stiles wasn’t too concerned that Derek was uncomfortable with this turn of events. 

“Much better,” Stiles said decisively, and Derek flushed but Stiles noticed the little shiver that went through him. “You like that, don’t you? Me telling you when you’re being good.”

Derek nodded, tensing up. “Yes, Sir.”

“I’m glad. I’d like to get you in pain, but I don’t think I’d like to just beat you.”

Derek nodded, and something twitched through his face, gone before Stiles could interpret it. For the moment, they had some more immediate plans, so he filed it away to think about again later. 

Because he was going to remember this, and he was going to figure out exactly what that flicker had meant. 

“I was thinking I’d tie your wrists together and to the headboard,” Stiles nodded to it, “and your feet separate. One to each post. Keep you spread open just for me. What do you think about that?”

Derek nodded slowly. 

“Would you like that? Or could I make you feel better another way?”

Derek shuffled. “I would like that, Sir, but—I—could you— On my stomach?”

“That was the plan. How else am I going to get things in your hole, Derek?”

Derek flushed darker and made this tiny, soft noise that sounded like a stifled moan. 

“I think I should tell you now, Derek—I want to hear every noise you make. Every. Last. One. If you stifle something, how will I know if you did or didn’t like it?”

“But, um— We haven’t started yet, Sir.”

“Then why are you calling me Sir.”

Derek glanced up, obviously not able to think of any answer other than, “Because we _have_.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles said. “Now. I want you to take off your clothes—all of them, so don’t act like you don’t understand what I mean—and fold them. Put them on the nightstand in one pile. Keep it straight. I won’t appreciate it if you decide to get sloppy.”

Derek didn’t even respond, just started stripping without any kind of grace or ceremony to it—just pulling off his clothes, dropping them into a heap at his feet, and not even hesitating at his underwear. 

Stiles was irrationally proud of that—it had been one of Derek’s insecurities when they started having sex at all. Derek was fine taking off his shirt—_obviously_—and he was fine taking off his pants, too, but his underwear had always been a sore subject. 

Apparently, Derek had been embarrassed because Stiles liked to trim his hair—mostly because he liked it when people went down on him, and he didn’t like them stopping because they got long strands of pubic hair in their mouth—and Derek… didn’t. 

Stiles figured, though, that after the first few times that he’d mentioned how much he loved Derek’s body hair—all of it—that Derek had finally started to get the message that Stiles not only didn’t mind it, but actively appreciated it. Now, a couple years later, he really didn’t seem to have a problem showing himself off. 

Admittedly, though, that was the only _possible_ physical flaw that he had. The other contenders were _eyes are too pretty_, and _muscles are too perfect_. 

Derek bent down to pick up his clothes and Stiles tutted loudly. “Don’t face me while you do that.”

Derek flushed bright red. “I— Really?”

Stiles nodded. “Yes. Really. Do it.”

Derek swallowed visibly, but his cock twitched, and Stiles smiled. 

“Now, please.”

Derek slowly circled the pile of clothes and bent over. 

“Legs twenty inches apart.”

Derek shifted his stance and Stiles rubbed the rope in lieu of his cock. God, he wanted to just grab Derek by the hips and lick into him, then fuck his cock inside his hole, pressing in with nothing more than a little bit of spit as lube, making Derek’s hole _burn_ with friction. 

Derek’s ass was meaty enough that Stiles couldn’t get a completely clear visual of his little pink asshole, but—Stiles licked his lips—Derek could definitely feel the cold air touching it. 

“May I—” Derek’s voice broke and Stiles grabbed at his cock, squeezing painfully hard. “May I stand up, Sir?”

“Yes,” Stiles rasped. His voice was shot and he hadn’t even deepthroated Derek’s cock yet. 

Derek did—so fucking slowly that Stiles _whimpered_, trying to swallow despite his dry throat. 

“Come lie d-down,” Stiles said, and at this point, he didn’t even care that he was stuttering, because Derek was _hard_ and Stiles was going to fucking come in his pants unless he managed to get a fucking grip. 

And not a fucking grip on his dick. 

Stiles got up from the bed and offered a hand for Derek to balance himself with (unnecessary, he was aware, but it made him feel strong, helping Derek with this tiny little thing, like he wasn’t just wanted, he was _needed_). 

Derek took it and Stiles flushed, biting back a moan. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Derek said, looking up at him from his eyelashes—also, how the fuck was that a _thing_ when Derek did it? Stiles had tried—Stiles had once spent four hours practicing in front of a mirror—and he just looked like he was nearsighted. 

Which he was, but—

Irrelevant. Everything was irrelevant, because Derek was on his stomach, and _slowly_ pulling his arms together, wrists and palms pressed together, and shifting his legs apart to either corner of the king-sized bed. 

(“So much bed,” Stiles had said. “Ridiculous amounts of bed.” Stiles was _never_ going to say _anything_ bad about this bed _ever again_.)

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles murmured. “You look so fucking beautiful, Der.”

Derek’s hips shifted and, without thinking, Stiles slapped his ass lightly, but the sound was brutally loud in the quiet room. 

Derek froze. 

“Don’t try to get yourself off.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re forgiven, always,” Stiles said, picking up the light purple rope. Derek had a pornographic T-shirt in a similar (read: near-identical) color, and Stiles had spent two and a half hours with a clerk at a BDSM shop explaining the exact scene he had planned and how the purple rope was the centerpiece of it all. 

The clerk had lost most interest within five minutes, but Stiles needed _somebody_ as an objective third party to listen to what he was saying and make sure that he wasn’t making a mistake. 

It was probably okay, though, because Derek had given him a credit card with the intent of, “Go nuts, you have five thousand a month before you have to talk to me about how you really need fourteen more ancient spell books,” and Stiles had taken full advantage of that and left a several hundred dollar tip to make up for the poor lady’s suffering. 

Admittedly, though, Derek had a habit of practically throwing money at people just because he didn’t know how to conduct social interactions properly, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it at all. 

Anyway. The rope was just about perfect. It was soft, it was thick, and it was that perfect shade of purple that made Derek look ethereal. 

“I know we didn’t discuss this beforehand, and I wouldn’t normally ask, but—”

“What, Stiles.”

“When I tie you up, can I take a picture? I have that old Polaroid camera—I should have enough film for it. You can see them and you can destroy them if you want, but I kind of—I’d like you to see yourself like this.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “I trust you. Sir.”

“Okay,” Stiles said softly, and set the rope down. “I’m going to get the camera. Don’t get yourself off—don’t move, or you’re going to regret it.”

“Yes, Sir.” Derek didn’t even nod. 

“Good boy,” Stiles said, and ran to the closet, pawing through every box they had put up there for storage. The camera was pretty easy to find, all things considered, and Stiles turned it on and loaded a blank film in. “Okay. Let’s get you tied up.”

Derek remained still as Stiles stroked down his flank. “You can move now. Just don’t pleasure yourself. Your pleasure is mine tonight, is that understood?”

Derek moaned and nodded. “_Sir_.”

“Beautiful,” Stiles said, and found the bight of the rope. 

He could do this. He’d been tying up his water bottles for the better part of a week, and legs weren’t _that_ different. 

Wait—he should probably do Derek’s wrists first. 

Okay. Double-column tie, here he came. 

Derek left his arms limp as Stiles worked with them, looking rope around them, and smiled up at him halfway through. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said. 

“Of course, Der.” Stiles grinned and paused for a moment to peck Derek’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sir.”

“You’re gonna look so pretty trussed up for me, aren’t you.”

“I hope so, Sir.”

Stiles smiled to himself, finishing up the tie. “I’d like to tie your wrists to the headboard. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Green.”

Stiles nodded, smiling. “Thank you for using your color.” And he tied Derek’s bound wrists to the slats in the headboard—which probably wasn’t the most secure place he could use, but on relatively short notice, it wasn’t too bad. 

Besides, Derek had been clear that he wasn’t planning to try and “struggle”—that he mostly just wanted to feel bound and contained. 

Stiles had asked if just cuddling more would alleviate it, but Derek had been pretty adamant that no, cuddling wasn’t what he wanted. “Unless you’re planning to tie me up and cuddle me. And fuck me.”

Stiles kind of had to double-check, though. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable with it if Derek had actually been just wanting to feel loved and instead interpreted it as wanting to be tied up. 

“I’m going to tie up your legs now. One to each post. How does that sound?”

A shiver went through Derek’s body—a full-body _shudder_. “Good, Sir.”

“I am a good Sir,” Stiles said, grinning as he walked to Derek’s left leg and started to wrap it in rope. 

Derek laughed out loud, full and joyful, and Stiles smiled brighter. “Of course, Sir.”

Stiles swatted at Derek’s calf playfully. “Hey, now. Somebody almost might think you’re sassing me.”

“I’m not, Sir,” Derek said, mostly sobering. 

Not fully, which Stiles was grateful for. 

“Okay, one leg done. Last one.”

Derek nodded. 

Stiles had no idea how he was going to go through on his original plan of sixty-nining Derek, but that was something to figure out later. 

Wait, maybe he could—_ooh_. That was an interesting idea. 

That would definitely work. 

Besides, Derek preferred being rimmed over getting a blowjob almost any day. It wasn’t like he’d be suffering while he was tied down, being rimmed, and getting his throat fucked by Stiles’ cock. 

Stiles pressed his lips together, trying to focus on tying Derek’s leg safely. “Okay. Awesome. I’m gonna take a picture, but I’ll show you it immediately, okay? Well, once it develops, but I’ll show you—”

“I know, Stiles.”

Stiles backed up, aiming the viewfinder until he got most of Derek’s body into the shot, emphasizing the swell of his ass, the fact that his legs were spread wide and his arms were tied up. 

The moment it whirred, the picture starting to develop, he half-ran over to Derek so he could see that Stiles wasn’t doing anything to tamper with the photo. “Okay, so—um. This is you.” He pulled the photo out and offered it to Derek, letting him see. 

“Shit,” Derek said. 

“I can tear it and you can burn it yourself if you want, I—”

“No, no, it’s— I didn’t— Thank you, Stiles.”

“You—you like the picture?”

Derek nodded. “I love it.”

Stiles let out a heavy breath of relief. “Okay, well, that was that. Um. Back to the scene?”

“Yes, Sir.” Derek’s eyes flashed alpha red and Stiles shivered. 

Derek was an alpha letting Stiles dominate him. Letting Stiles tie him up and fuck him. 

Stiles walked back around to the footboard and pulled the box of his supplies out from under the bed. He’d been fiddling with the rope because he wanted to make sure Derek felt safe when he tied the knots—and didn’t have to witness Stiles’ fumbling with the rope—but everything else had been cleaned and sanitized. 

The “everything else” being a vibrating dildo that he planned to use on Derek today. 

God, this was gonna be good. 

Stiles pulled out the dildo and the lube and slicked up his fingers. Having Derek spread apart for this part was probably going to make it much easier, but the way that he’d tied him to the headboard and the posts would make it easy enough to untie him from the furniture and keep him bound up so Derek didn’t need to worry about anything other than taking the pleasure Stiles gave him. 

And, soon enough, the overstimulated pleasure-pain he’d offer. 

He circled Derek’s hole slowly and it twitched under his fingers. 

“Remember,” Stiles said, pressing down just a little, “I expect you not to stifle or muffle anything.” 

“Yes, S—_uh_.” 

Stiles grinned, fucking his finger slowly in and out. Derek didn’t usually like it too slow, but Stiles was going to take his time a little bit. Derek was at his mercy, after all. 

Derek was just _moaning_, gasping and cursing and grunting, and Stiles had to pull out for a moment—to a very annoyed, needy groan of, “_Sir_,”—to unbutton and unzip his jeans. 

He didn’t dare pull himself out, yet. Not unless he wanted to get ahead of himself and just fuck into Derek’s tight, slick heat—

Nope. Nope, he wasn’t going to take himself out. 

Once Stiles was able to fit three fingers in—it was a fairly large dildo, which he was certain Derek was going to appreciate—he said, “You okay, Der?”

“Green, Sir.” Derek sounded—odd. 

“How do you feel?”

“_Good_, so good, Sir.” He was slurring. 

“You feel light? Heavy? Floating or sinking?”

“Hmm… I’m floaty.” Derek giggled. “I’m so good, Sti—Sir.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said. “You know what this is?”

“Hm-mm.”

“I think you’re in subspace. Do you want to keep going?”

“_So bad_.”

Stiles smiled. “Tell me if anything changes. I want you to enjoy this, Derek.”

“Love you, Stiles.”

“I love you, too, Derek.” And with that, Stiles plunged the slicked-up dildo into Derek’s hole. 

Derek shouted, hips bucking. “Yes, _please_!”

“Shh, shh,” Stiles petted his side gently. “You’re okay. I’ll give it to you in a moment, just let yourself adjust.”

“Please, _Stiles_, please.”

Stiles turned on the vibrator and set it to rolling vibrations. 

Derek groaned, so beautifully and long, and Stiles smiled. “How does that feel?”

Derek just rocked his hips into the vibrations, slow and steady, and he looked so beautiful that Stiles barely resisted taking another picture of him. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Derek couldn’t really fully consent at the moment to it, and Stiles running around trying to make sure Derek was comfortable with the photo wasn’t going to be a very good idea. He needed to stay close. 

He was happy to stay close. 

“I’m gonna untie you from the posts, okay?”

“No! No, don’t wanna— Wanna _stay_….”

“I know, but I thought I could suck your cock while that fucks you, and you could suck mine if you want. I can’t do that if your cock’s against the sheets.”

“_Yes_. Good. Do it. Do that.”

Stiles smiled again. 

God, he loved this man. 

He carefully untied each of Derek’s legs from the posts, leaving the ropes on his legs intact, and helped him roll over. He’d tied the rope from Derek’s wrists to the headboard in such a way that it could be twisted without causing discomfort. 

At least he’d thought ahead for different possibilities. The original plan had been to tie Derek down on his back, but Stiles was nothing if not prepared for all possibilities at all times. It was what made him a good emissary, albeit far from a perfect one. 

“You good?”

Derek nodded, hips fucking into the air. 

Stiles grinned. “You want to suck my cock, too, or just have me suck yours? No wrong answer.”

In response, Derek opened his mouth wide. 

God, Derek was such a bottom. 

Stiles swung his leg over Derek’s head. “Good?”

Derek sucked Stiles’ cockhead into his mouth. 

Stiles grunted. “I’m taking that as a yes.” 

Without waiting any longer, Stiles wrapped a hand around Derek’s cock, took it into his mouth, and started blowing him, moving his hand from Derek’s cock to the dildo in his ass. 

He tapped on it intermittently, without any pattern to rhythm or force, and after a few minutes of wet, dirty noises, Derek finally pulled away with a long groan—long enough that, paired with his cock twitching in Stiles’ mouth, Stiles jerked away, squeezed tight around Derek’s base, and pulled the dildo out of Derek’s ass. 

“Fuck you, Stiles,” Derek said, with a surprising amount of sincerity in it. 

“What, were you gonna come?” 

“Yes, I fucking—_oh, God, Stiles_,” and Stiles hummed around his cock and then Derek was shooting into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles smiled, bobbing on Derek’s cock happily. 

Just because Derek was a complete slut for giving head didn’t mean that Stiles didn’t like it. It just meant that Stiles had some self-respect about it. 

“Too—too much—stop—”

Stiles pulled away. “Color? While I’m sucking your cock.”

Derek made a choked noise. “Green. It’s green.”

Stiles took Derek’s cock back in his mouth and sucked hard. 

“Green!” Derek shouted. “Green, green, stop it, stop, _stop_, it _hurts_!”

Stiles was dead certain that it did, in fact, hurt, but he knew Derek. He knew about the dozens of times that Stiles had kept going a little after Derek started getting oversensitive, and he knew that Derek’s balls always twitched a little, sometimes a little bit more come spilling out of his cock. 

He knew Derek liked a little bit of pain with his pleasure. 

“Yellow,” Derek said, a minute later, and Stiles popped off immediately. 

“Too far?”

“No, just—getting there.”

Stiles moved, shifting his legs from straddling Derek’s head. “Do you want to end the scene?”

Derek shook his head. “No, just— Don’t fuck me?”

“Too sensitive?”

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s just—”

“No—no, baby. You did so beautifully. Can I rub against you? By your cock?”

“On it’s okay, too,” Derek said, wrapping a leg around Stiles’ waist and pulling him closer. “Wanna watch you rut, Sir.”

Stiles grinned. “Then rut I shall.”

Derek rolled his eyes. 

Stiles leaned down and kissed him, wet and warm and soft, and carefully started to frot against Derek’s soft, oversensitive cock. Derek kept releasing these soft, rough, _broken_ little moans, and Stiles—Stiles was there altogether too fast, coming across Derek’s belly and covering him in streaks of white. 

“Sorry,” Stiles managed. “Thought I was gonna last longer.”

“Come here,” Derek said and Stiles kissed him again. “It was perfect.”

“I’ll untie you now, if that’s—”

“Can you take another picture? Just—I want to remember this.”

Stiles smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Derek’s forehead. “I do, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. 
> 
> _This work was inspired by @NihilistShiro's Kinktober prompt list, available here: https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872 _


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